


Simmer Down

by loudspeakr



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: (with a hint of feels), Come Sharing, Consensual Non-Consent, Dominance, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, OT4-approved, Semi-Public Sex, Switching, Workplace Sex, damn rhink back at it again with the aggressive love-making
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 02:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18714268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loudspeakr/pseuds/loudspeakr
Summary: Once upon a time, two best friends bet against each other and ended up screwing on a couch in a room full of people. Now they're older, wiser, and they haven't grown up one bit. Who will come out on top this time?





	Simmer Down

**Author's Note:**

> Title's inspired by [_Do I Wanna Know?_](https://open.spotify.com/track/3rq5w4bQGigXOfdN30ATJt) by the Arctic Monkeys (who are fantastic live, by the way).
> 
> Apparently, there were a few folks who wanted to see more of [another fic I wrote two-ish years ago](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10553482).
> 
> So here ya go - have a thing I wrote in response to that.

“Hurry,” Rhett’s groaning, knuckles white on the railing. A shuddering gasp answers him, then a slam of hips against his. “You got two minutes.”

“Easy for you to say. You had longer.”

“Look,” he manages, his breath catching when Link fucks into him just right. “You’re the one with the plan. I’m just following it.”

Link’s fingers tighten where they’re pressing into his hip-bones, a silent acknowledgement. _You’re right_ , they tell him. After all, it was Link who had traipsed into their office earlier today after having disappeared all morning, a shopping bag in hand and a glint in his eye that Rhett would only ever recognise as the beginnings of yet another one of Link’s ideas coming to fruition.

“Not long left, man,” Rhett warns him, unable to help himself. He clenches down on the cock that’s working overtime inside him, earning himself a whimper in reply. He should know better; they’ve been advised before that these walls aren’t as thick as they’d prefer them to be. But he loves it when Link’s loud, and God knows Rhett’s never been able to deprive himself of anything he loves. “They’re gonna start calling for us any moment.”

And, sure enough, there’s a knock on their door downstairs.

“Give us two minutes!” Link all but roars, caution absolutely thrown to the wind now, the fury in his voice bringing heat to Rhett’s cheeks. There’s another heat as well, one stirring low in his groin, and if he hadn’t already come moments ago, Rhett would have a hand shoved under his waistband already.

But his job now is to get Link there, too, so that’s where his focus is. And judging by the stutter in Link’s rhythm, they’re close.

So, Rhett helps the only way he knows how. “Come on, bo. You buyin’ yourself time now? You talk a big game, but you got _nothing_.” He reaches back to pull Link towards him, to feel for himself just how hard Link is working for this. “You know I’m gonna last all day, even with this overtime crap you’re pulling.”

“I ain’t pullin’ nothin’,” Link mutters at him, and Rhett practically preens like he does whenever he manages to pull the Southern out of his man.

“Bull _shit_.”

He’s met with a frustrated groan, then a moment of nothing but laboured breathing, of skin on blushed skin, of Link’s hands wandering down to get a better grip on his hips to yank him backwards like they need. Link lets loose a straight-up growl, one that has the hairs on Rhett’s nape standing on end. Rhett's eyes flutter closed under the sensory onslaught.

“You think I’m stallin’?” Link’s voice hits his ear suddenly, low and gruff, music to his ears. But before he can react, Rhett feels himself being shoved forward against the railing, eyes flying open to take in the expanse of their office below. The thought of almost being pushed over the edge sends a shot of adrenaline rippling through Rhett. “Then fuckin’ _take_ it.”

But it’s Link instead who goes tumbling over as he finally reaches his climax, hips still pistoning away like a true professional. Though his profanity in these moments is nothing new to Rhett, the shock of it almost cancels out the sensation of being heaved back to be pressed flush against Link's pelvis. He can feel Link’s hands tremble from the effort as he spills heavy into Rhett’s core.

Rhett doesn’t dare move, takes everything Link’s got for him, tries to get air back into his lungs. His partner’s slumped now at his back, draped along the length of his spine, his slowing heartbeat still hammering against Rhett’s ribcage. Rhett lets him come to on his own, quietly revelling in the momentary melding of their bodies.

Neither man could have known their hormone-fuelled escapades as teenagers would end up this way, with a realisation that they’d fallen for each other long before they could put words to the ache they each thought was normal. It carried on into their adulthood, into their marriages and careers, a life built around the bond they could now openly share with those closest to them. But as their families and their company grew, so did the toll on their relationship. Eventually, the time they could spare for each other dwindled to stolen moments between calendar appointments.

And so, even with his eternal impatience and gluttony for more, moments as rare as these – ones that take them back to their reckless beginnings – are moments Rhett is only too happy to indulge in.

He holds back a whine when Link finally slips from him.

“Where is it, man?” Just like that, the moment of calm is gone. Rhett turns to find Link with his pants laughably around his ankles, tossing cushions from their chairs. “Shit, where’d I put it?”

He’s about to go and help when he catches sight of shiny plastic between Link’s ass-cheeks, instantly remembering his partner’s grand plan for the day. So, he stays put instead, remains hunched over the bannister where Link had put him not too long ago, doing his best to hold Link’s contributions inside as he searches. Rhett doesn’t have to wait long.

“Ah, here we go.” Link returns, a navy blue butt-plug held up proudly, one matching his own deep green one. “Ready, bo?” He doesn’t wait for Rhett’s reply when he’s already pressing it to sore, worked skin. It glides in smoothly, helped along by the slide of what’s already inside. Rhett can feel himself opening up around it nicely, and Link says as much, despite the ultimate task at hand. “You’re so good, Rhett. Such a good boy.”

As soon as it pops into place, Rhett knows he’s in trouble.

He lets it settle, gets a feel for how it pushes Link’s seed around inside him, tests out his range of mobility with it in as Link goes about getting ready. He’s never worn one of these, never had a reason or any desire to before today. He's game enough though to try anything Link swears by, his only worry being that it might fall out at some point, making a mess and a fool of himself in front of his employees. But no matter how he twists and moves, it stays put, embedded deep and oddly comfortable.

Happy, he tugs his underwear and pants up quick enough to catch one last glimpse of Link’s own plug nestled between his cheeks, the smooth green toy keeping Rhett’s come in place.

“Mmm, you filled me up nice, Rhett,” Link teases over his shoulder, giving himself a pat on the rump. Rhett swallows back a moan, fighting back the muscle memory of tight, wet heat around his dick accompanied by a flash of Link riding him hard and fast earlier on the La-Z-Boy. The thought of it has him blushing, twitching in his briefs. It’s no wonder Link’s pushing exactly the right buttons; he’s had them memorised since day one. “Feels _so_ good. Can’t wait to carry you around all day.”

But Rhett knows how to play this game, too, turning away from Link’s smirk to gather himself. He finishes buttoning up his shirt and moves for the loft steps, feigning ignorance for Link’s crude display.

“Remember,” Rhett says, stepping down to the first rung. “First man to touch himself loses.”

He hears Link chuckling above him. “Then may the best of us win.”

 

 

 

It turns out they couldn’t have chosen a worse day for their little competition.

Their episodes nowadays tend to see them sitting behind their desks more often than otherwise, exactly the kind of situation Rhett was counting on.

Today was one of the few exceptions.

Sat atop a rented exercise bike, Rhett’s sure he’s looking redder and more exhausted than he probably should be by this point. His physique and overall appearance is admittedly a point of pride, one that Rhett has cultivated almost his whole life. So the fact that he even just _appears_ as unfit as he does in front of the cameras is enough to wear away at his composure. Add to that the constant pressure and occasional shift of the plug against his prostate, and he’s just about ready to call it quits.

“Hey! You stopped pedalling!” Opposite him, Link’s riding an elliptical machine, red-faced himself and sweaty in the spandex leotard they’d each been made to wear. The man looks good, unbearably good for someone with an apparent incapability for cardio. In fact, he’s got enough energy to jab a finger mockingly in Rhett’s direction. “Come on, brother, feel the _burn_.”

Rhett has no answer for him, instead silently cursing his unnecessary showmanship with a second wind to pedal harder. But it isn’t long until he’s back where he was, each cycle bringing forth another wave of unnerving pleasure as his toy jostles inside of him. He can feel Link’s come shift, threatening but unable to leak. The sensation spikes humiliation in him, made worse by the weight of Link’s eyes fixed to his movements. He couldn’t be more thankful for the cup concealing his hardness right now.

“Quit lookin’ at me, man,” he deflects, forcing the limelight back onto Link for a quick second. “I don’t see much pedalling happenin’ over there!”

“Oh, you wanna see pedalling?”

There’s a flash of mischief on Link’s face before he’s redoubling his efforts as well, taking Rhett’s challenge to heart. He looks far too comfortable over there, his easy insults getting under Rhett’s skin just a little more than they usually do. Then, to top it off, Link lets out a shameless moan, shaking it out to disguise it as added exertion.

It’s all Rhett can do to not adjust himself in full view of their entire staff.

“Dude, what was _that_?”

Link just laughs at him, a sharp giggle at his expense. “I’m just exercisin’ here. Feelin’ good, man. This machine’s doin’ me _real_ nice.” Rhett stops pedalling. “I think we got a winner over here.”

 _That cocky bastard._ Link’s lewd comment sparks laughter around them, but Rhett’s focus sits squarely on Link, vision swimming red-hot and furious.

He’s about to fire back when he’s saved by a call to cut.

The bustle of their crew around them ends up pulling Rhett out of his tantrum. He hops off his machine and heads out backstage to get some air. He got angry, genuinely _angry_ for a second there, and for good reason: Link decided to play dirty.

Trying to calm himself down, he’s barely made any progress when he notices Link making a beeline towards him. Rhett can’t read his expression in the darkness, but he feels Link’s steady gaze reach him before his words do.

“You seem like you’re struggling,” Link whispers, smugness evident even now in the quiet. The fabric of their suits is thin enough that Rhett can feel the warmth of Link’s breath as he leans in closely. He shivers under the proximity, at the reminder of just how much closer they’d been earlier. “You sure you’re gonna last?”

It’d be so easy to reach down and press down on his cup. His mouth almost waters at the relief that closing a fist around himself would bring. But Link’s too close, too observant to let that happen.

And for that, in this moment alone, Rhett absolutely hates him.

“I’m good,” he grits through his teeth, his temper flaring again. “Just playin’ it up for the camera.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause you looked a little frustrated out there, like there’s somethin’ you’re holding back?”

 _Asshole._ “I said I’m fine, Link.”

He gets a hum in response, sees Link start to turn away to get back to the set. “I hope so. You got more than a few hours of this left.”

“So do you.”

“Yeah,” Link agrees, sashaying his hips for Rhett’s benefit. He swears he can almost see the tip of Link’s plug pushing through. “I look forward to it.”

_Absolute asshole._

 

 

 

The rest of the taping doesn’t go any better.

Rhett doesn’t recall their chairs ever feeling this uncomfortable, but they’ve got him shifting in his place every few seconds or so, right through the entire More segment. He’s never been more glad for the distraction of their employees blathering on about _whatever_ it is today.

“Rhett? Hello over there?”

The problem is, every time he moves, so does the toy inside him. He can feel Link watching his every move as he squirms, feels his come shift with every position he tries to settle into. The added scrutiny is unbearable. If Rhett had it his way, he’d be splayed across this desk right now, cock in hand, hurtling towards the relief of orgasm under the warm studio lights.

Honestly, Rhett probably should’ve expected this, just how _into_ this he’d end up being. He’ll be the first to admit he loves the feeling of Link’s softening length still held snug inside of him once they’ve finished, those arms winding around his middle to spoon him from behind as they fall asleep in the same position. There’s been more than one occasion in the past where he’s woken in the middle of the night to Link slipping out and dribbling their slick onto the sheets. There have also been a couple of mornings – the best mornings – where a half-asleep Link picks up where they left off, hard again and already sliding against his walls, patiently fucking him back into consciousness.

Maybe this is just an extension of that – because Link isn’t touching him, but really, he is. Link’s sitting on the other end of the desk, but he’s also _inside_ him right now.

Link’s everywhere, just the way Rhett likes it.

Rhett knows he’d sound completely insane if he said any of this out loud, but _holy shit_ , if the thought of it isn’t doing things to him.

“And it seems Rhett’s already checked out over there,” he hears suddenly, Link still masterfully playing host for their audience. “All worn out, I guess. What –”

“No, just,” Rhett blurts, and he realises he’s feeling better, now that he’s analysed what’s happening to him. “I’m feeling reinvigorated all of a sudden.”

The surprise on Link’s face is delicious. Oh, how he loves that man. “Oh, really now?”

“Yeah,” he says, unable to keep from grinning, and he makes sure to hold Link’s eyes when he purposely but subtly grinds down on his seat, pressing the plug in just right. He’s almost giddy when he lets his mouth open just a bit, just enough to catch Link’s eyes for a split second. The slight tinge of pink on Link's face isn't lost on him. “I’ve decided today’s gonna be a good day.”

For once, Link doesn’t have anything to say.

 

 

 

After the taping, Rhett hightails it out of there. Doesn’t bother waiting for Link, tugs his regular clothes back on, gets stuck into his work for the rest of the day. He might’ve come up with a plan of his own, but it involves not giving Link the satisfaction of running his mouth off. So, Rhett makes sure he’s hidden himself away, out of Link's reach.

The hours pass without incident – his partner's own schedule doing its part in keeping him preoccupied – until, finally, Rhett lets himself be found.

He’s always liked the table in their boardroom – its broadness, the look of its wooden grain, its unyielding sturdiness. He takes pride in the fact that it was him who first picked it out, much to his wife’s approval. _Good eye_ , she’d told him as it was hoisted into their new meeting room.

It wasn’t the first thing he’d had a good eye for.

Link arrives just as Rhett is reaching for his phone. It’s the end of their day, their employees filing out the door, leaving the two of them alone.

“So here’s where you been campin’ out?”

Rhett doesn’t need to look to know the nonchalance Link's trying so hard for, to see the hands in his pockets or the exaggerated swagger in his step as he walks in.

“Shut the door, would you,” he asks without looking. He finishes his text to Link’s wife and puts the phone face-down on the table, closing his laptop as well. “How’d you do today?”

“Really great.” He hears the door close, the lock clicking into place. He isn’t surprised that Link’s got the same mindset, right there with him. “I think we’ve got them on board. Just gotta work out how to incorporate the product.”

“No, I mean –” And he swings his chair around to finally look at his partner. “How did _you_ do today?”

Link’s eyes are ablaze when they meet Rhett’s, the mood rapidly shifting. “Yeah. I’m good. You?”

“Still good.” Rhett gets up out of his seat. He can feel wary eyes watching him as he turns to lean back onto the table, the edge jutting into the backs of his thighs. He beckons at Link, crooks a single finger to tell him to approach.

Link waits a beat, but he does exactly what he’s told. Ever the impatient one, he closes the space between them in three long strides, nearly startling Rhett with his eagerness. His hands find the buttons on Rhett’s shirt as soon as they touch him, his mouth finding the collarbones underneath just as quickly.

“Did you miss me? ‘Cause I missed you,” Link says genuinely as he pulls away for a second, after making short work of the garment he’s throwing to the ground. He dives back in as soon as he can, practised lips kissing the freckles on Rhett’s chest, swiping a tongue across one of his nipples.

Rhett holds on as best he can, his hands tight on the table’s edge, as Link crowds him to nudge a leg in between his. For his strategy to work, he needs to let Link think he’s winning, that he’s got this one in the bag. But when he feels just how much Link needs him, it’s almost enough for all coherent thought to leave him entirely.

_Almost._

As needy hands wander downwards to find his waist, Rhett finds an opening and grabs at Link to flip their positions, the manoeuvre ending with Link being slammed face-down against the table.

“Cheating! This is cheating!”

Above him, Rhett chuckles aloud and bears down a little harder with his forearm. “Hey, now. Nobody said anything about not touching the other.” And he humps forward to emphasise his point.

With Link's limbs still scrambling for retaliation, Rhett takes the opportunity to undo the man's fly. It’s a task with only one hand free, but he manages to shimmy his jeans off, pushing his boxer-briefs to the floor as well. He leaves a chaste kiss on Link’s right shoulder-blade, a distraction as he trails a hand down to cup at one of Link’s cheeks before striking it with an open palm.

“Ow, Rhett!” The hit riles Link’s fury up again, and he begins his thrashing anew. “This is stupid – someone could _see_ us! Let me up!”

Rhett glances over at the windowed door, looking through into the kitchen area. It’s empty as expected, quiet without the team there. “Oh, I think we’ll be okay.”

“You’re ridiculous! You can’t –”

“I can’t do what, Link?” Reaching down, he takes hold of Link’s plug, jiggling it in its place. “I can’t tease you like this? Like you were trying to do all morning?”

Rhett unzips his own fly, not bothering to kick his pants or his underwear away, and pulls his dick out to prepare himself. If he’s being honest, he could stand to feel like this more often, to feel this power coursing through him, the rush of doing this out in the open where anyone could find them. It’s a feeling he doesn’t find anymore as often as he’d like, and despite his protests, he knows Link feels the same.

Spitting into his hand, he spreads the wetness along his length, jerking a few times to bring himself to full hardness. Link has settled underneath him, breathing deeply after all his exertion. It’s a stark contrast to the near-violent struggle mere moments ago.

“You fresh outta fight, brother? I dunno – I kind of liked it better when you were angry.” Rhett smirks, slapping his length against Link's rump for good measure. Finally ready himself, he goes to take hold of the deep green plug again. “Here, let’s see if we can get you going again.”

Tugging firmly, the toy comes free with a vulgar squelch, drawing a moan out from Link. But Rhett’s attention is on the bright pink of his overworked rim, now clenching around nothing, glistening with the milky white substance he can see is still inside. He’s overcome briefly with a spark of depraved inspiration, and he reaches forward to shove the toy in Link’s mouth.

“You spit that out, boy,” he growls, exercising the full extent of his rumbling bass. “And you’re gonna get it **.** ”

And without warning, he shoves a couple of fingers into Link’s waiting hole.

There’s something utterly gratifying about this, about the sound of Link’s muffled cries, about the feeling of a smaller body struggling against his own. Rhett doesn’t get to flaunt his size very often – a lifetime of prioritising others’ comfort above his own will do that to a man – so when he gets to let loose like this, he doesn’t waste a second. He doesn’t care; he can’t afford to. With moments of such utter abandon as rare as they are, he’ll take what he can get.

They’ve talked about it, so he knows Link gets it, too – and the fact he’s still got the plug in his mouth when he can so easily and probably _should_ toss it to the ground is testament to that. Link knows Rhett needs him like this every so often, needs him to play into this for the sake of his sanity.

Rhett ignores that, though, when they play. He carries on as if Link doesn’t want any of this, like he’s _losing_ – because he is. With his impressive frame spread lax over Link’s, Rhett’s absolutely got him, he’s got _this_. But still, he isn’t one to take any chances, not when it’s Link he's up against.

So, to the symphony of his whining, Rhett expertly seeks the bundle of nerves that makes Link writhe every time. He finds it, and he sets to work stacking the odds in his favour. Link responds by throwing his head back, cries quickly turning to moans, his hips nudging backwards to get more, to feel more, to take more. His face is red, hair matted on his temple, when Rhett catches another glimpse.

“Hey, settle down. I’ve got you.”

Not wanting to keep Link waiting any longer, Rhett removes his fingers and takes hold of his cock, sensitive now and heavy against Link's leg. He takes it and rubs the head across Link's pucker, smearing precome onto the angry, red skin.

“You want this?” he growls, low, whisper-quiet. “You gonna be good for this?”

Link nods his assent, a meek showing on his part, and Rhett begins to press inside.

It’s the second time he’s done this today, so he carefully takes his time sliding in, inch by inch, knowing Link likes it deep. It's a familiar feeling, being with Link like this, one Rhett's revisited enough times in his life to wonder how he lived without it before. The lack of lube, though, is something he isn't as used to. This time, it’s his own come helping to ease him in, making the slide all the more glorious. He continues slowly until he’s fully seated, pushing Link’s pliant body a little further up the table with a burst of energy.

He takes a moment to make sure they’ve both adjusted, drags his eyes over the landscape of Link’s bare skin under the office lights, top to bottom. He pulls back for a better angle, and that’s when he notices it: his contribution from earlier beginning to leak where they’re joined. It catches the light as it moves, its glisten flaring up something primal Rhett thought lay long dormant since their college days.

He could get used to this again. He’ll _definitely_ get used to this again.

It's only then that he hears Link whine a question, tapping a hand against the wood for his attention.

“Yeah, go on,” he relents, and Link’s toy clatters across the tabletop to land on the hardwood floor. It's replaced with words for Rhett, insistent and pleading, voice ruined under Rhett’s watch.

“Come on, please, man, _come on_.”

Rhett spreads a steadying hand over Link's tailbone. “But you told me you'd be good.”

“No, I –”

“You _told_ me you’d be good, Link. Did you lie to me?” Rhett doesn’t dare move an inch, depriving the man of any friction as he watches him shake his head _no_. “You didn’t? You sure?”

It’s subtle, but Rhett can feel the tremble under his palms. _God_ , it feels good when they’re like this: wanton and willing, dangerous and desperate. The temptation’s right there, to give Link what he’s asking for – because, no matter the game they’re playing, they ultimately want the same thing. It's no different this time.

It takes some consideration, but Rhett figures he’s in a comfortable enough position to give a little.

“Don’t think this is mercy,” Rhett explains, pushing his hips back into Link’s. He _feels_ rather than hears the response, take pleasure in the sensation of Link’s muscles spasming around him. “I think you’ve known me long enough to know I don’t like to lose.” Then he holds, lets Link get reacquainted with the fullness. He holds and takes a deep breath, the finish line firmly in sight. “And I don’t plan on doing so tonight.”

He holds – then he lets loose.

Link’s just a body underneath him as Rhett fucks hard, fast, as precisely and efficiently as he can. He ignores the lock of hair stuck to his forehead, the dull ache in his lower back waiting to implode the second they finish. They’re problems for later. Instead, Rhett zones his focus in on the task at hand, at maintaining the angle he’s found that makes Link yelp and shudder unbidden into the room around them.

Rhett feels his best like this, hearing those sounds while pressing bruises into Link’s hip-bones. He’ll feel even better watching Link leave this room a ruined man.

He can’t wait.

“Deeper,” he hears Link gasp, and his pride is unparalleled. “Please, _more_.”

 _Why not?_ So Rhett complies, takes the fuel of his imminent win, and holding his breath, starts his sprint towards the finish. There’s a tightness in his abdomen, a lick of pleasure beginning to spread – but he’s so close, they’re so close.

“More, please, _Rhett_ , more,” Link's babbling in all his delirium. “Shit, bo, _yes_ , love you,  _I love you_ , yes!”

There’s an impulse to respond – because, fuck, he loves Link, too, _he does_ , loves him with every fibre of his being – but the words never make it out alive. Lungs heave, a gasp for more air. His hips stutter.

“Rhett?”

And he comes, his vision flashing bright before blacking out altogether.

 

 

 

The table is hard against his face when he opens his eyes again, rubbing rhythmically on his cheekbone. He lets out a groan, post-coital exhaustion settling over him.

“Well, that’s a first,” he hears suddenly, a mocking tone over his shoulder. “You’ve never passed out before. Might’ve overdone it.”

That’s when Rhett feels himself being spread apart a touch wider, coupled with the drag of Link’s cock already past his rim, pushing in deeper now with the permission of his consciousness.

“Oh, by the way…”

The palms on the plump of his ass squeeze, possessive and smug. Link snaps his hips.

“I win.”

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing but sweetness and mad love to the incomparable [Ali](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhinkipoo/pseuds/rhinkipoo/works) for beta-ing up my madness. You queen, you genius, thanks a billion for all your input!
> 
> You'll find me on [Tumblr](http://loudspeakr.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](http://twitter.com/loud5peakr) if you wanna yell at me.
> 
> Kthxluvyabaiiii. ♥


End file.
